Falling fast, deafening wind hurting my ears; I fall through the cloud layer before tugging the pull-string and the parachute cloth unfurls and the cords become taut and…
…silence except for the snap of silk overhead. I pull the chords on my right and the patchwork quilt of the landscape spins till I’m facing my target, two miles from the facility.
Slowing down, wind begins howling then roaring again as I glide down to the forest clearing. I pull my legs up and land perfectly, landing with a gentle bump.
I pull my goggles up and reel the parachute in, fold it and pack it away carefully. Pull my rifle out, eject the magazine, check it’s full, slot it back in. Haul the rucksack onto my shoulders, begin jogging.
It’s only then that I notice a familiar dull pain in my knee, feel my leg clicking in and out of my hip.
Maybe I’m getting too old for this shit.